


Soft, Pale and Pure

by imtelevisionsmoirarose



Series: Coming Together [2]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, Come, Comeplay, Comfort/Angst, David Rose Deserves Nice Things, David Rose is a Good Person, David Rose is a Nice Person, Episode: s04e02 Pregnancy Test, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, First Time Topping, Light Angst, Light Praise Kink, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, POV Patrick Brewer, Past Patrick/Rachel, Patrick Brewer is a Button, Patrick Brewer loves David Rose, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Episode: s04e02 Pregnancy Test, Praise Kink, Rimming, Service Top Patrick Brewer, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:06:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29277426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imtelevisionsmoirarose/pseuds/imtelevisionsmoirarose
Summary: Patrick has a lot on his mind going into his first night really alone with David at Stevie's. David's past isn't the only one muddying the waters. Told from Patrick's POV and takes place mostly to the end of and after Pregnancy Test.___________________________Patrick Brewer is nervous.In most facets, he likes to think he is a self-assured, confident man. Reliable. Level-headed. Sure-footed. If you ask anyone from his old life, his life as Clint and Marcy’s Son, Patrick, and his life as Rachel’s Fiancé, Patrick, you’d get the same answer—Patrick? He’s steady, dependable. Even. You can count on him.But right now is different.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Series: Coming Together [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2138025
Comments: 62
Kudos: 283





	Soft, Pale and Pure

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! This is my second fic ever and also, consequently, my second fic in the Coming Together series. It came out as kind of the organic next milestone in David and Patrick's relationship. Writing from Patrick's POV was so content and awestruck and warm—I look forward to writing from it in the future! I hope this does justice to their story and continues the series well. Thank you so so so much for reading. This title is also a song from The Honorary Title's Anything Else But the Truth, just as part 1 was. I'm so glad I decided to do this series so thank you all for your encouragement to continue. I was gonna post tomorrow but I need to stop picking at this and set it free.
> 
> I'm on tumblr at im-televisions-moira-rose.tumblr.com
> 
> I love hearing from people and making new friends and meeting folks to beta read with. please come say hi!
> 
> edit: Yes I definitely should have mentioned this. Assume there was an off screen discussion and agreement about testing/protection/STIs. Our boys are smart.

Patrick Brewer is nervous.

In most facets, he likes to think he is a self-assured, confident man. Reliable. Level-headed. Sure-footed. If you ask anyone from his old life, his life as Clint and Marcy’s Son, Patrick, and his life as Rachel’s Fiancé, Patrick, you’d get the same answer— _Patrick? He’s steady, dependable. Even. You can count on him._

But right now is different. Right now, he’s standing on the front step locking up the doors to Rose Apothecary and his hands are shaking so much that he can’t slot the key in the deadbolt. And his stomach feels like it’s about to fall out of his ass, to put it eloquently. And he’s really fucking frustrated with himself.

The key finally scrapes its way into the lock and he clenches his jaw, daring to look at his watch.

He has 53 minutes.

53 minutes to get back to Ray’s, shower, change and pack before he told David he’d pick him up at the motel and they would head over to Stevie’s together; he really couldn’t be cutting it much closer.

He’d sent David home early both as a thoughtful gesture and a sly method of self-preservation. Once they’d accepted Stevie’s apartment offer, they’d been a bit more scattered than usual, wandering around the store aimlessly, electricity rocketing between them with every slight touch or lingering gaze.

He figured he’d be more focused in David’s absence, but that somehow had made it worse. The last hour and a half of the day had inched along and Patrick found himself repeating tasks and recounting stock over and over again, his brain so crossed around the man in the sweater that it couldn’t get anything right. He’d even had a customer come back in after a purchase to get a partial refund because he’d accidentally keyed it in wrong and overcharged her. He felt useless.

Useless is his least favorite feeling. He meditates on that, getting into his car.

Thankfully, it turns over—the starter has been finicky lately—and Patrick heads towards Ray’s, rolling through stop signs in a way that makes him a little nervous, even in a town as small as Schitt’s Creek. One hand rests on his denim-clad thigh and he realizes he’s reflexively clenching and unclenching a fist.

Patrick thinks about earlier in the stock room at the store, David’s mouth against his neck, fingers groping at the front of his jeans. Every nerve in his body had needed David’s hands, David’s tongue.

“David, please.” He’d choked out, but he hadn’t even known what he was asking for.

He’s not used to feeling this out of control. He recognizes he’s vibrating at way too high a frequency but he doesn’t have time to unwind himself and he coils tighter and tighter around the steering wheel until he’s suddenly in Ray’s driveway.

“Hello Patrick!” Ray’s warm voice calls from the kitchen as Patrick races up the stairs.

“Hey Ray!” He shouts back breathlessly, glancing down at his watch again. _41 minutes._ “Running late—can’t talk. I’ll be out tonight but we’ll catch up soon!”

Even when his brain is this scattered, he can’t be rude to Ray—the man single handedly kept him afloat for weeks while he tried to figure out his next steps. He is deeply indebted to his well-meaning, unusually over-eager, boundaryless roommate.

He heads directly to the bathroom and starts the shower, leaning up against the back of the door, heart pounding. As the water starts to warm and steam begins to fill the room, Patrick is finally able to take a deep breath. He looks at his watch again as he sets it on the sink.

_39 minutes._

His hands are still shaking as he starts to take off his shirt, but his breathing lets him focus on the buttons. The warm, wet air licks at his bare chest and settles around him like a comforting blanket and he sighs deeply. And he uncoils. He toes off his shoes and pulls off his socks, slipping his jeans and boxer briefs down in one swift movement. And uncoils. And steps into the shower. And uncoils.

When the water hits him, Patrick visualizes the unproductive afternoon dripping off his body, closing his eyes and stepping directly into the stream. He’s thankful for good water pressure, and as he scrubs his scalp, running his fingers through his short tidy hair, he ruminates on the night ahead.

He knows there will be sex; there’s no question about that. None of the looks they gave each other this afternoon said anything less than sex was on the table. But how and what was very up in the air and it made him uneasy. Not because there was something he didn’t want but because there was nothing he didn’t want. Except for whatever David didn’t want. How do you say that? David is generous even if he hates to admit it and Patrick knows that David will do whatever he even raises an eyebrow at and he doesn’t want that—he want’s **David’s Greatest Hits, David’s Top 5, David’s Must Dos**.

He doesn’t want it to be about _his_ first night—he wants it to be about _theirs_ . The night isn’t special and different because David is a _man_ , but because the man is _David_.

_God. David._

As Patrick’s mind focuses back on David in the physical reality, his hands are lathering his body and they linger at his cock, tempted as he cleans himself, running his fingers underneath his balls. He bites his lip, wanting to smell fresh if David buries his face there. His palms move around to his back and electricity shoots up his spine as a hand carefully slides down the cleft of his ass, just brushing against his rim.

What if David buries his face there?

His cheeks feel hot and he’s indignant to acknowledge he’s blushing alone in the shower. He’s touched himself there before, a few times out of curiosity, once with Rachel when he was really drunk (she cried and they never talked about it again) and several times recently, borne out of previously repressed fantasies. It feels...different? Definitely not bad but also not something he has a word for. He mostly relishes the contrast of filling and being filled.

Patrick lathers again and teases himself a few more times for good measure. Just in case.

He’s wrapped in a towel, hurrying down the hallway when he checks the watch again.

_24 minutes._

Shit. How did he take a 15 minute shower? His cock twitches guiltily.

In his room he hurries to shuck the towel and pulls on his navy blue boxer briefs from the dresser drawer, throwing an extra pair on the bed. He pulls on his socks one foot at a time as he hops around the room. Where is his fucking duffel?

A quick sweep of beneath the bed reveals said duffel and Patrick gets to packing. Toothbrush, deodorant...lube? Does he bring lube? Is that rude? Do they both bring lube? Who is the designated lube provider, especially seeing as they’re meeting on neutral grounds?

Jesus, Patrick. Keep it together.

Underwear, an old soft tee, sweatpants follow. As he’s packing he looks over his shoulder to glance at himself in the mirror on the dresser. He looks happy and strong and sexy. And his ass really is pretty fucking great. He can’t believe David barely got a look the last time they were naked together. It’s definitely not something he as a formerly heterosexual male ever thought had a real pull with the ladies, but he’s certainly seeing the benefits now. David loves grabbing his ass any chance he gets, and he gets a lot of chances, and Patrick doesn’t mind a bit.

He unplugs his charger and sticks it in the bag. Stevie has soap, right?

Oh, no. He’s spiraling.

He steps into his jeans and hurries to pull on his undershirt and a light blue sweater. Nothing new, but he thinks blue is the only color that he looks okay in.

And he looks pretty okay in this.

He feels silly looking at himself in the mirror and goes back to distractedly packing. He decides to bring the lube. He knows David will probably bring lube too, and, let’s be honest, Stevie probably has lube, but Patrick is also pretty sure that crosses the line of lube etiquette that he has begun to write in his head.

As he zips up the bag, he takes a deep breath and looks in the mirror again. Tomorrow he will be different. Different because of David. And it will be good.

_14 minutes._

* * *

In the car again, his hands grip the steering wheel so hard his knuckles are white. The radio he never shuts off is quietly belting Tina Turner and Patrick makes himself focus on her voice instead of his own…he isn’t even sure what he’s feeling. It’s not quite nervous, but it’s also not only excitement.

Anticipation? Anticipation is the word.

_“In your eyes I get lost, I get washed away…”_

Patrick takes a deep breath as he pulls up in front of the motel, parking in front of room 7, next to the Rose’s old Lincoln. He smiles thinking about how sexy David looks in the drivers seat of the black car and wonders absentmindedly if the old seats recline. It feels pointless driving basically around the corner but Stevie’s is a bit further and he wants to be a good date.

He’s feeling antsy again, his heart rate picking up as he stares at the room 7 door. He made it with 6 minutes to spare and now there’s nothing to do but wait alone with his thoughts, of which he has many. He’s letting himself get psyched out, thinking about the myriad of ways tonight could go wrong and he can feel himself start to sweat, the small of his back damp under his sweater. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat and catches his own eye in the rear view mirror.

_“…I can feel you even when I’m alone…”_

He knows he’s ready. He’s been ready for this night for a while, but his stomach won’t settle.

He sits back and thinks about David’s eyes and his hands and his mouth and he absolutely doesn’t think about Rachel. He doesn’t agonize about the awful thing he did to her or wonder how she’s getting along. He doesn’t remember the last night they were together before he left with no explanation and he definitely doesn’t think about how he had pretend to come–her soft, pale, pure body below him, shaking with a sweet and brutal honesty he couldn’t reciprocate.

He doesn’t think about her and he feels empty.

He’s shaken out of his reverie by the sound of the passenger door opening. David is bent over in the doorway, looking at him with concern etched into his brow. He’s gorgeous as usual, not a single hair out of place.

“Um, hi.” He sets a leather bag on the floor on the passenger side, looking concerned. “What’s wrong? Is everything okay? Did someone die? Is Stevie dead–did Stevie die?”

Patrick laughs in spite of himself and shakes his head, blinking. He forces a smile and clears his throat, taking a deep breath.

“No, David. Everything is fine. Are you ready?”

David nods, grinning as he slides onto the seat next to Patrick. He leans over and pulls him in to a quick kiss, resting a hand on his right thigh. He keeps it there as they break apart.

“I’m ready.” David chirps, giving Patrick’s leg a gentle squeeze. Patrick feels himself uncoil.

He is ceaselessly amazed by the way David’s presence soothes him. David is a lot, yes, but in the way that the Sistine Chapel is a lot; he’s gorgeous and overwhelming and you can absolutely lose yourself in him. He makes everything else small. Patrick inhales deeply, breathing in David’s clean, spicy smell and he wraps his hand around David’s on his thigh, lifting it to his mouth and pressing a kiss to his thumb before letting their intertwined hands rest on his leg again.

He pulls out of the motel parking lot and they start down Main Street towards Stevie’s building. They’re both quiet, the radio still on low in the background, Tom Petty’s voice murmuring a familiar refrain.

It’s not an uncomfortable silence, Patrick notes, but it is heavy. David’s thumb brushes across the back of his hand over and over.

“How was the rest of the day?” David asks. He can feel David’s eyes on his face.

 _Terrible. I missed you. I was a mess because I couldn’t stop thinking about taking your clothes off._ Patrick wants to say.

“Slow.” He gives a small smile, eyes darting to David’s mouth. David nods the animated way he always does, his whole upper body rocking back and forth in the seat. “What about you?”

“Also slow, but very relaxing.” David nods again. “Mhm. Thank you again for letting me leave early.”

“Of course. I knew you’d need time to pack.”

David gives a small smile and rolls his eyes.

“Yes, well. I was very thankful to have adequate time to gather myself. I even did a mask.”

“Wow, David.” Patrick squeezes the hand on his thigh. “I pamper you.”

David nods a third time in affirmation.

“Yes, I know. Luckily, I also had plenty of time to brainstorm ways to thank you.”

His eyebrows wiggle and the hand on Patrick’s thigh creeps up slightly and squeezes again. Patrick holds his breath for a moment, willing his heart to stay steady. The light they are stopped at turns green.

“Oh?” His attempt to sound casual fails and it comes out a bit too quickly, too eager.

“Yep.”

David offers no further explanation but his eyes dance.

They are quiet again, Patrick’s head spinning with the endless possibilities behind David’s words. His body tingles as they pull up to the lot next to Stevie’s building.

When he shuts the car off, he sits there quietly for a minute. David watches him thoughtfully, lips screwed to the side of his face, rubbing Patrick’s thigh assuringly. Patrick looks back at him and smiles softly.

“Ready?” He blinks. The question holds a lot of weight. David’s eyes are warm, dark pools and he floats in them. David’s head bobs.

“Whenever you are.”

* * *

A half hour later, Patrick sits on Stevie’s bed in socked feet, back resting against pillows on the headboard. His tongue is a little slower on account of the whiskey and his head spins as he tries to wrap it around the idea of juggling more than one relationship at a time. A throuple? David is messing with the turntable, trying to get a Stevie Nicks album to play. He’s pulled the covers down on one side.

“I don’t understand technology.” He says in a huff, flopping onto the bed next to Patrick as the record finally cracks and pops to life.

Patrick is quiet as he looks down at his mostly empty whiskey glass. The night hasn’t started the way he’d hoped and the guest appearance by David’s obscenely handsome ex has certainly put a damper on his confidence. He feels ridiculously underwhelming in his baby blue sweater, not to mention that he’s actively trying to avoid bringing up anything else from the past tonight since he’s really not ready to talk about Rachel. There’s just too much there for him to trip over.

David is reclining propped up on his left elbow, his body turned towards Patrick’s, his head near Patrick’s shoulder. He’s studying Patrick’s face carefully. 

“Where are you?” He asks, softly. His right hand takes the glass out of Patrick’s and sets it on the bedside table, turning back to face him again. “What’s happening here? Is it still–“

“Jake?” Patrick blurts, sounding a little more bitter than he means to. “Yeah.”

 _And Rachel._ But he keeps that to himself.

“Patrick.” David’s voice is gentle and he rests his hand on Patrick’s stomach. “Look at me.”

Patrick lets himself meet David’s eyes, head still angled down.

“I know how this all must have looked. Esp–especially the mouth kiss. But you have to believe me when I say that Jake is _so_ not a thing you need to worry about.”

He closes his eyes and shakes his head emphatically.

“Like—he’s _really, really_ not.”

Patrick scoffs, looking down at his hands again.

“Easy for you to say. He has like 6 inches on me, David.”

“Not where it counts.” David smiles and wiggles his eyebrows and Patrick can’t help but laugh. “I’m serious, honey. I’m not being condescending.”

Warmth blossoms in his chest. _Honey._

“He was a welcome distraction when I was really lonely here but that’s pretty much it.” David smiles sheepishly. “I know you’re a good person and you actually care about everyone you sleep with, but I am not and I don’t always. Care, I mean.”

“You’re a good person, David.” Patrick puts his hand on top of David’s on his stomach.

“You keep thinking that.”

David pulls himself closer and closes the gap between them, pressing the front of his body to Patrick’s side. Patrick lifts his right arm to drape it around David and pulls him in and they kiss slowly for a long moment, mouths hot and open. David’s hand on Patrick’s stomach sneaks under his sweater to brush over the delicate skin just below his bellybutton and Patrick’s breath catches in his throat.

They break apart and Patrick uncoils a little. He imagines his spine as a spring, the tension in his shoulders snapping it into place.

David’s hand snakes up further under his sweater, a thumb on Patrick’s right nipple, lightly teasing it.

“You need to relax.”

Patrick nods.

“I know.”

“Tell me about the rest of the day. Anything interesting happen?”

David continues to thumb over Patrick’s nipple absentmindedly. Patrick shakes his head and sighs.

“Nope. Except I got myself all worked up about almost being late picking you up tonight. And I overcharged Mrs. Klein when she bought body milk.”

David mock gasps and looks up at Patrick.

“You made a mistake?!”

“Don’t rub it in.”

David grins his crooked grin.

“I’m just saying–who do I turn to when the numbers guy fucks up the numbers?”

He rests his chin against the plane of Patrick’s shoulder where it meets his chest, his head rising and falling with Patrick’s breathing. They are quiet again for a moment and David’s hand slowly traces Patrick’s stomach under his sweater. Patrick is itching to touch him.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

David sounds careful and Patrick is irritated with himself again. He does not need to be taken care of. His left hand grabs David’s forearm firmly.

“David.” He pauses, looking nowhere in particular and focusing on his breathing. He can feel his face getting hot but he needs to get this out. David’s hand stills in anticipation.

“I’ve been thinking about fucking you all afternoon.”

He can feel David holding his breath. His fingers pulse against the middle of Patrick’s chest, thumb swiping down towards his belly button. David’s half hickey burns on his neck and the moment stretches long and loud between them, the air in the room thickening.

“Mmm.”

David clears his throat, shifting slightly so that he can bring his right leg over Patrick’s hip, and Patrick delights in feeling David getting hard against him. David’s hand is snaking down his stomach and Patrick’s heart is pounding in his ears as he feels graceful fingertips dipping below the waistband of his jeans. He catches David by the wrist.

“Wait.”

Slowly sitting upright, he unpeels himself from David and stands at the side of the bed. David pushes back up on his left elbow again, laying casually, knees bent, feet curled up by his ass. He pulls the sleeves of his sweater over his hands and raises his eyebrows. Patrick wants David to see him.

He’s quiet as he strips off his undershirt and sweater, the record player humming softly in the background. He stands backlit by the glow of the lamp in the corner, chest and stomach rosy and flushed, nipples hard. Lazily, he rubs his thumb over one as David watches, his eyes dark. He wants David to watch him. And David does.

_Oh, god, David does._

Patrick is hard. Achingly hard. And that’s very apparent as he works his fly and his jeans come down over his thick, strong thighs. He knows he’s flushed but he’s not embarrassed; on the contrary, he’s getting more and more aroused watching David unfold in front of him.

As he steps out of his pants, he slides a hand into his boxer briefs and begins to stroke himself, wetting his lips slowly with his tongue. David is enraptured, hand resting on his own obvious erection and he is maybe The Most Beautiful Thing Patrick has ever seen. Patrick is simultaneously turned on and choked up and it’s confusing as hell.

“Baby, come here.” David pleads softly.

Patrick closes his eyes and tilts his head back and takes a moment to remember this.

When he was younger, he never experienced arousal in the same way most people do. He realizes now that it should have been a sign for him, but at the time it was just how he thought things were. It was never the body as a whole that he connected with sexually, but rather a sum of parts—the soft skin of a ribcage against his calloused fingers; the feeling of hot breath in his ear; fingers dancing on his spine; a choked moan. It changed moment to moment, but those were the items he catalogued for himself, the things he clung to afterwards. Little moments in the big event were what kept him going, kept him interested.

With David, though, it’s so different. So different. Every time their eyes meet, he feels like he’s been turned inside out. Everything is raw and oversensitive and there’s no part of David he doesn’t want to feel and taste and know. He used to be quiet when he touched himself, but lately his orgasms have been loud and desperate, and they always end with David’s name, chanted like a prayer to an empty room.

He rests the front of his legs against the bed again as he continues to touch himself and David crawls over to meet him, pressing their bodies together. His hands find David’s hips and he pulls up the hem of his sweater, slipping it over his head and burying his face in David’s neck, biting lightly at the dip of his shoulder. Folding it carefully, he sets the sweater on the chair behind him before turning back, their bare chests touching. David shakes his head animatedly, his eyes dark.

“You continue to surprise me, Patrick Brewer.”

He smiles, pulling Patrick into a kiss, one hand wandering down to his ass and squeezing gently. Patrick sinks into David’s mouth, feeling the spring of his spine release. He wants this.

With a strong hand on David’s chest, he surges forward, pushing him back on the bed and following, coming to rest between his legs. His hands pause on David’s waistband as he looks for approval and David nods down at him.

“Yes please.”

He gives his wolfish smile and Patrick’s stomach churns with arousal. His mouth is dry as he unbuttons David’s jeans and unzips the fly, hands shaking again. He takes a deep breath and holds it, willing himself to calm down. David shimmies out of his unfastened jeans gracefully, draping them over the chest at the end of the bed. He sits up and rotates himself so he’s propped against the pillows on the headboard and smiles softly down at Patrick.

Patrick’s head is buzzing as he drinks David in—dark hair, olive skin, strong thighs. The line of his body is heavy and confident and his face is relaxed as he watches Patrick fall apart. Grinning in that same devilish way, he slowly slides his black boxer briefs down and off, kicking them to the floor, letting his hard cock bounce against his stomach. Patrick’s having a difficult time deciding where to start, the canvas of David’s body stretching under his hands endlessly as he places them on David’s thighs.

“Tell me what you need.” He murmurs, bending over to plant a soft kiss on David’s left hip, watching David’s cock twitch in interest inches away from his mouth. David hums.

“Well,” He starts, breathlessly, “If you want to fuck me, you need to get me ready.”

Widening his legs, he pulls his knees up and places his feet flat on the bed. Patrick’s view from below where he sits between his thighs is breath-takingly erotic and totally obscene.

“Can you get the lube from my bag?” David asks, stroking himself slowly. Patrick swallows and nods, pushing himself up. He leans over the edge of the bed with one hand to where David’s bag rests on the ground and rifles through it, sitting back up triumphantly when he locates a small bottle. He starts to uncap it when David grabs his wrist, eyes shining. He’s clearly holding back a grin as he bites his lips and tilts his head back.

“Patrick, that's my anti-aging serum.”

Patrick feels the tension melt from his shoulders as they begin to shake with laughter and David puts on an offended expression.

“Are you trying to tell me something?” He’s mock-indignant, throwing his hands up in the air. “I mean–is my asshole not _youthful_ enough for you?”

Patrick is relieved to note the spring in his spine has uncoiled completely as he leans over David’s body, laughing, and kisses him slowly, weaving one hand into his dark hair. He flattens himself against David’s chest, belly to belly, relishing in David’s thighs, open and hot on either side of his hips. Their cocks brush against each other through Patrick’s briefs and he sighs contentedly.

“Sorry if I’m being intense.” He says simply as they break apart, giving another gentle tug on David’s hair. 

“Mm. It’s fine. I like you intense.” David smiles softly at him. “I like you all the ways. I just don’t like seeing you put all this pressure on yourself.”

Patrick sighs again.

“You know you don’t have to prove you’re sexy to me, right?” David asks against Patrick’s mouth. Patrick’s cock twitches and he rolls his hips against David, earning a groan.

“We aren’t here to prove anything.”

Patrick closes his eyes and hums in agreement. At those words, everything in his body shifts and softens and he takes himself off the track, pushing down to lay his face against David’s chest. David wraps his warm arms around Patrick and draws him in, holding him together. Holding him in place. He absentmindedly runs his fingers through David’s hair again as he listens to the comforting thrum of the heart against his cheek.

 _It’s a good heart,_ he thinks to himself.

They lay together for a long moment and Patrick grins as he feels David’s hands slowly but surely creep to his ass. He clears his throat and lifts his head to look at David, who raises his eyebrows and lowers his chin.

“What?!”

Patrick returns the raised brows and David puts a firm hand on his head, pulling it back down against his chest and patting it enthusiastically, the other hand continuing its quest.

“ _Shh shh shh_. I don’t get to appreciate your ass nearly often enough. I’m making up for lost time.”

Patrick gives a low chuckle and uses his placement on David’s chest to tweak a dark nipple. David gasps and squeezes his ass in response and Patrick rolls his hips downward, immediately answering back. He feels David’s arousal reignited against his belly and rocks against him another time, hands braced at David’s hips.

“Do you wanna try for the lube again?”

“Mhm. Yep.”

Patrick pushes himself off David, allowing him to roll to the side of the bed. As he reaches over, looking through his bag, Patrick lets himself take in the strong, soft curve of David’s back, the smooth broadness of his shoulders and the dusting of freckles there. He can’t help but trace his finger down David’s spine absentmindedly as he waits and he notices goosebumps erupting on David’s smooth skin.

“Found it!” David’s sing-song voice rings in Patrick’s ears as he turns back to face Patrick, cringing, holding a small round bottle and a washcloth. “Sorry. There’s a lot of product in there. I may have been a bit ambitious about my skincare for the evening.”

“That sounds very unlike you, David.” Patrick smirks sarcastically, pulling him into a smoldering kiss and plucking the bottle out of David’s hand. When they break apart, David wiggles and props himself against the pillow again, legs spread, feet flat on the bed. Patrick’s cock twitches and he finally takes a second to pull off his underwear. They’re both naked now and the tension is stifling. Patrick slicks his hand and begins to touch himself, watching David carefully.

“David, are you sure this is something you want?”

“Um. Hm.” David furrows his brow dramatically, putting a would-be inquisitive finger up to his cheek. “Remember that semi shameful time that I told you I touch myself thinking about you fucking me?”

Patrick swats at the side of David’s hip with his open hand, clenching his jaw.

“Don’t be a brat.”

He’s kidding, but the way David’s eyes flicker and darken when he hears ‘brat’ quietly thrills a deep, secret part of him and he tucks it away. They’re quiet again for a long moment, both breathing heavily.

“So. Would you like a demonstration?” David screws his mouth to the side demurely, his left hand slick and shiny, snaking down his stomach and reaching between his thighs. His right hand works a pillow under his hips, propping himself up.

Patrick nods, feeling his eyes widen, his grip on his base growing tighter. His face is on fire and he watches bashfully as David’s fingertip plays with his own rim, slowly teasing himself, slicking the entrance before diving in to his hot, wet heat over and over. He can’t look away even when he feels David’s eyes on his face.

Patrick never really liked porn. He always thought it was too many close ups of too many razor-burnt genitalia being stimulated in the least artistic way possible. But kneeling here between David’s legs, watching him finger his asshole with abandon as he fists his own cock, Patrick understands the appeal. As he stares, he fights the urge to lean over and hold David’s hand away and taste him there. To make him wet and sloppy, opening him wide with his tongue. Patrick’s cock throbs painfully at the thought and he feels incredibly dirty, but in a good way, in a way nothing’s ever made him feel before.

Before David, he thought that primal, carnal part of him was broken—he never really felt sexually compelled by anyone he had been with in the same way all his friends seemed to be driven crazy by their various conquests. Sex was fine; He understood its role in a relationship and made sure to have it in adequate amounts—some with Rachel was actually relatively enjoyable—but it was never the first thing he thought about in the morning and it never kept him up at night. He was always willing to satisfy his partner when they wanted and made up for any lack of sex drive in the oral department, but the abstract idea of sex when he masturbated appealed to him more than the real thing and he thought that was just how he was.

 _Look at him now,_ he thinks, raising his eyebrows slightly, _touching himself, daydreaming about eating his boyfriend’s ass._

Boyfriend. That’s interesting. We’ll lock that box up for later. Patrick blinks, David’s face coming into focus.

“Patrick, honey.” David is purring. “Give me your hand.”

Still kneeling between David’s legs, Patrick clenches his jaw as David grabs his wrist, folding his ring and pinky finger into his palm and coating his index and middle. He watches, entranced, as David guides him to press his fingertips against his pink, wet hole. As he meets David’s eyes, David gives the smallest lift of his chin. Inviting. Taking a deep breath, Patrick presses in to David with his hand and makes the most obscene noise he’s ever made with his mouth, his other arm wrapping around the back of David’s right thigh. David echoes him softly, letting his head fall back. He keens as Patrick registers the tight, wet heat his fingers are in, closing his eyes and concentrating on the sensation. Two knuckles deep, he lets his thumb lightly press up against the soft skin between David’s asshole and his balls and David hums.

Patrick brings his fingers out and then leisurely reenters David, curling them up slightly and establishing a slow, torturous rhythm. David’s right hand comes down to rest on the side of Patrick’s face where it’s pressed against his thigh, eyes down, glued to where he sinks his hand into David over and over.

As he pulls his fingers out to their first knuckle, he parts them and David hisses softly, hips bucking. Patrick presses a soothing kiss against the inside of David’s knee as he continues to stretch him gently. Withdrawing completely, he grabs the lube from where it rests by David’s hip and applies more to his hand, uncurling his ring finger. David watches him beneath heavy lids and nods when Patrick pauses at his rim. Holding his breath, he gently pushes his three fingers into David, humming low as they slide past the first ring of tantalizing tightness. His left hand digs into the tender flesh of David’s thigh as he watches them disappear, his eyes glassy and mouth hanging open at the sight.

David grabs the hand on his thigh again as Patrick begins moving his other wrist slowly, languorously. He tears his eyes away from his hand entering David to watch his face. His eyes are closed and his brow is creased as if concentrating, lips parted and chest rising steadily with deep, shaky breaths. Patrick spreads his fingers slightly apart as he continues and watches with delight as David’s eyebrows furrow and then rise with the sensation. His neglected cock twitches; he could sit between David’s thighs forever like this. 

David clears his throat, pulling Patrick back into reality.

“Patrick.”

Patrick looks up at him, stilling his hand. Their eyes meet and heat floods Patrick’s belly again.

“I’m ready.”

Patrick licks his lips and nods slowly, eyes still locked with David’s. Wiping his fingers on the washcloth next to David’s hip, he coats his hand again and begins to stroke himself, his cock tingling with anticipation. David gives a demure smile, reapplying lube to himself and pulling his knees up further towards his chest, his legs falling open softly. Patrick’s whole body hums with electricity as he kneels, breathing deeply and centering himself between David’s thighs.

His heart is in his throat, every beat knocking the breath clear out of his chest, and his hands shake as he hooks one under David’s right knee and positions himself against David with the other. Slowly, slowly, slowly he breaks the surface tension between their bodies, letting the heady pressure of David’s wave crash around him. He watches himself enter David and he sinks and he sinks and he sinks and it feels like endless warmth.

When Patrick’s hips are flush against the backs of soft thighs, he realizes the sound ringing in his ears is coming from him. He’s chanting his private prayer over and over but this time the room isn’t empty. David hums softly in response, resting his hand against Patrick’s cheek. Head still angled down, Patrick tears his eyes away from where they meet and looks up.

“Stay with me.” David murmurs, rubbing his thumb over Patrick’s lower lip gently. His eyes burn and his chest is on fire as he gasps in shallow breaths, watching David’s face.

“You’re so good, honey.” David purrs.

Carefully bracing himself and hooking his other hand under David’s left knee, Patrick just barely rocks his hips and his whole body tingles, heat pouring over his shoulders and flooding his belly. David nods down at him, wetting his lips, his brow furrowing slightly as he wraps his other hand around his cock. Eyes locked on David’s, face slack-jawed and hungry, Patrick begins to move slowly.

Patrick is vindicated by how different making love to David’s body is. He remembers anxious nights with Rachel, agonizing about hurting her if he was overeager or miscalculated, overly cautious with the pressure of his hands and his hips. She was so small—barely 100 pounds—and sometimes it was almost like she wasn’t there underneath him. So pale, so quiet, so delicate. He never could manage to hold on to her in any real, meaningful way. But here, now, David is solid and present in front of him on the bed, vibrating against his body with need. And he is so much. He is so much and all Patrick wants is to pour himself in.

It’s incomparable. His brain searches for something to cling to as the sensation of gradually burying himself over and over in David’s tight warmth overwhelms him. He quickens the pace of his hips and David’s hand on his face moves to hold the back of his neck, fingers firm and heavy. Patrick leans forward and pushes his palms to either side of David’s body, feeling David’s legs wrap around the backs of his thighs. David hisses into the stretch as Patrick’s hips press against him and Patrick silences him with a blistering kiss.

Patrick’s angle has changed and it seems to be working for David, he notes, feeling hot hands slide down his back to grab his ass, pulling Patrick deeper with each roll of his hips. He feels David’s hard cock leaking between their bellies and the sensation drives him wild. David’s eyes are dark and they flicker down Patrick’s body as its muscular frame ripples and strains with effort.

“You feel so good, honey. You’re so good.” His voice is high and breathy and he gasps as Patrick bends down to bite at a rosy nipple. Patrick answers the praise with a strangled moan, feeling the pressure in his belly grow.

“Fuck, David.” He breathes, resting his temple against the side of David’s face, grinding his hips. “How are you real?”

David gives him a small smile and then lets out a moan, never breaking eye contact and arching his back off the mattress as Patrick angles himself upward. He moves one hand to David’s mussed hair, pulling slightly as he combs through the dark curls.

“Harder.” David keens.

Patrick cock throbs with need as he complies, sitting back up and bracing himself against David’s thighs as his hips snap into him over and over, reveling in the sound of their bodies coming together. He hums long and low, furrowing his soft brow, his mouth hanging open, watching David touch himself, and he can feel the room melting away as the pleasure builds heavy in his gut. He clenches and unclenches his jaw with every thrust.

“I’m close.” He chokes out through gritted teeth, his peripheral vision fading into a blur. David moves the hand not on his cock to Patrick’s hand gripping his thigh and squeezes it soothingly.

“Come for me, baby.” He coos breathlessly. “Fill me up.”

And Patrick’s nothing if he’s not eager to please.

Moaning, he feels his orgasm burst and shatter through his body, sharp waves of pleasure knocking the breath from his lungs. David is all he sees through heavy lids and he feels himself humming as he comes and comes, falling forward, hands bracketing David, flushed and needy below him. David’s eyes are wet and warm and his lips are moving but all Patrick can hear is the sound of blood rushing in his ears, his throat and eyes burning. He draws in a shallow gasp of shaky breath and it takes him way too long to realize that he’s crying.

Cool. So now he’s _The Girl That Catches Feelings_ AND _The Girl That Cries After Sex_.

He rests his forehead on David’s collarbone, bearing his weight on his forearms as he rides out the aftershock of possibly the most incredible orgasm of his entire life.

“Mmm. You did so good for me, honey. So good.” David whispers against the top of his head.

Patrick lets himself be held for a moment before he sniffs and struggles to push up. Wincing, he gently pulls his sensitive, softening cock out of David and David hisses with loss, feeling empty. Patrick pulls back again and rests his head against the inside of David's knee and stares at what he’s done.

David is still hard, but his body is flushed and sweaty and his hole is pink and raw with use. Patrick’s mouth drops open as he watches his cum slowly seep out of David’s ass. He's wild with desire and he thinks nothing but want as he bends down and licks David there, the combination of himself and David’s heady tastes exploding in his mouth, and he swallows and he moans. His brain suddenly reboots and the intimacy of what he just did deeply terrifies, shames and thrills him. His face burns and his stomach flips.

“Oh my god, David.” He blurts. “I’m so sorry. That was–“

“That was the hottest fucking thing anyone has ever done to me.” David breathes, raking his shaking hands over his face.

Patrick looks bashfully up at him, cheeks burning and then bends down and fucking does it again, generously taking his time, feeling David’s entrance pulse beneath his tongue. He just came but his cock still twitches valiantly.

“You’re beautiful.” Patrick murmurs against the inside of David’s thigh, letting his hand run up between David’s legs to wrap around his weeping cock. He’s basically useless right now but he can at least do this.

He presses a kiss against David’s base, burying his face in the coarse, dark hair there, breathing him in, his scent sharp and fresh. Stroking David languorously, he watches his hand strip David’s cock with hungry eyes. One of David’s hands grabs the sheets and the other is firm on the back of Patrick’s head. Patrick lets his tongue dart out to taste David’s shaft and David inhales, shuddering as he pulls the hair at Patrick’s neck. Patrick’s tongue licks widely up to the head and twists his wrist, eliciting a high, breathy sigh.

He works the wetness of his mouth down David’s length and then takes him in, moaning at the feeling of David hot and heavy on his tongue, twitching with desire. One, two, three and a half strokes of his tight fist and his mouth and then David whimpers as he comes on Patrick’s tongue, the hand on Patrick’s head shaking with effort, and Patrick has never felt more powerful or satisfied, lazily laving at the slit. He’s refreshingly exhilarated by his ability to give David pleasure. Spent, they lie together in a heap, hearts pounding, their heavy bodies pressing against each other. Patrick turns to kiss David’s hip and then lays back down against it. David gives a wet laugh, petting Patrick’s head.

“Who’s sloppy now?” He asks, raising an eyebrow with a smile on his face.

Patrick snorts, his eyes closed, body relaxed.

“It takes one to know one.” He fires back. His eyes burn again. 

“Mmm. A bold claim.”

Patrick never really cries, but he thinks it’s mostly because, generally, his feelings are controllable. Manageable. But these are different. And compelling. And good. These make him curse and grip and whine and _lick_. His face burns again as he thinks about what he’s just done between David’s legs, but he’s so proud. Never before has he allowed himself to act on desire in an unbridled way and it’s a revelation. His stomach jumps with fondness as he listens to the man underneath hum quietly and contentedly to himself, still rubbing Patrick’s head.

Patrick’s cock twitches again as he thinks about what David said after he came.

_“You did so good for me, honey.”_

The idea of Patrick being a good man for David, worshiping him, taking care of him, making him feel wanted—it thrills him. He wants to be good in every single dirty and wonderful way David needs. And he wants to be actually good. David Rose deserves good things; he wants to make him feel safe. And known. And loved?

_Oh god he’s getting carried away._

David gives a little wiggle and Patrick weakly scoots up to rest his head next to David’s on the pillow.

“Are you okay?” David asks, reaching down to grab Patrick’s hand. He looks genuinely concerned and Patrick’s heart skips several beats.

David Rose is a nice person.

David Rose is a good person.

David Rose is _his_ person.

He nods—his big, dark eyes dancing the way they always do when he looks at something he loves.

He feels right.

* * *

A couple hours later, they’ve showered, changed the sheets and eaten (all to David’s relief) and they’re curled up together in bed, in the dark, Patrick listening to the soft snuffle of David’s steady breathing. He’s snugly tucked under Patrick’s right arm, face pressed against his chest, a warm hand draped over his body. Patrick’s pretty sure he feels David drooling on him and that little intimacy has him tying himself in knots, coiling and unraveling over and over. His chest aches with fondness and he can feel his throat tightening again.

Against his better judgment, his mind drifts back to the before times. To long, empty nights in the apartment with Rachel. Towards the unceremonious end of their relationship, after they got engaged, he developed terrible, clinical insomnia. His stomach churns as he remembers laying awake for hours on his back, staring at the ceiling and drenched in sweat as Rachel’s petite, peaceful body rested curled up against him. Her presence should have been comforting but instead it felt more suffocating each day. He distinctly recalls a couple specific instances where the insomnia spiraled into a full blown panic attack and he had to carefully slip out of bed to put his head between his knees in the cold bathroom, gasping in shallow breaths. Rachel was none the wiser in the morning.

She would not have understood.

Things were simple and clear and sure for Rachel and she’d always known what she wanted; Patrick admired and loved her deeply for that—just because he had finally figured out he wasn’t in love with her didn’t mean he didn’t still love her with everything he had. He’d known her for half of his life and she was the closest thing he had to a best friend and a partner, even if their pieces never fit together quite right.

He, on the other hand, had only ever known what everyone else wanted for him—being a people pleaser definitely had its drawbacks—and on those long, sleepless nights, he was beginning to have the sneaking suspicion that what he actually wanted and what everyone else thought he wanted were two wildly different things.

The night he left home, he got to Ray’s at two in the morning and then he slept for 13 hours straight. The sun was already low in the sky by the time he woke up and he felt new—terrified at the world spreading out before him but more overwhelmed by the rush of freedom.

And then 13 days later he met David.

He’d never been captivated by someone like that before, hanging on to every word David said. Standoffish and sassy, David had been so easy to tease—a perfect application of Patrick’s real love language, if he’s being honest. He fondly remembers the many long-winded, meandering voicemails David left after (Patrick later learned) he got high with Stevie and walked to the storefront to be inspired—how genuine and funny and endearing they were. Patrick had listened to them over and over, and each replay he felt something unraveling inside of him, exposing a raw, soft, hidden part that David kept climbing into. It was a hole that Patrick fell in every night. David wounded him in that way; David was his vulnerability.

And the vicious cycle started over. But this time he was laying awake because of something he wanted. Or, more specifically, someone. And human desire was a lot better look than existential dread. He got into bed at the end of every day, his entire body thrumming with electricity as he replayed all their interactions in his head. The specific conversation about sloppy and clean mouths had provided an embarrassing amount of fantasy material that Patrick blushed to think about now that he was actually living it. 

David snorts and twitches in his sleep, and Patrick blinks back into reality and can’t help but smile softly, burying his face in the dark curls at his shoulder. He’s here. He’s right here. Patrick can barely believe it.

And he’s _definitely_ drooling.

 _"I’m in love with you."_ He breathes, weighing the words on his tongue, his mouth pressed against David’s forehead, inhaling slowly in the quiet room.

And, for once in his life, he’s sure he means it.


End file.
